


Flip a Coin (and hope for the best)

by jaimelannisters



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelannisters/pseuds/jaimelannisters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re playing a game that cannot be won and you’re paying for it in ash and bone...”</p><p> The Targaryen family have seized political control over the city of Westeros and nothing and no one will stand between them and the power they so desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna go ahead and leave this here...

 

**Prologue - the cost of innocence**

His was not a gentle poison, for theirs were not gentle hearts. He’d assure himself later, that what he did was truly a mercy to the frail old man—for that was who he was now, just a nameless, frail old man, nothing more than a piece on a board, _and he was standing in their way_.

But he wasn’t really. His name was Jon Arryn and his only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The liquid was clear and unremarkable on the outside, showing no hint of the scorching flames that dwelled within it. No one noticed when the silver-haired man slipped it into the drink intended for the politician at the head of the table; _it was so easy._

Two seats along from him, his father sent him a nod that would’ve been virtually imperceptible to anyone else (unlike the way his son sat rigid by his side).

They were surrounded by noble men and honest women, and Rhaegar tried to placate his thoughts by reminding himself that any one of them would surely do the same if it meant winning this little game they played. Only the dragons had gotten there first and now victory was within their reach.

_But it doesn’t count if you cheat…_

Her voice echoed in the back of his mind and he was suddenly grateful that she wasn’t in attendance that night, for he surely would’ve faltered. _What would she think of you if she discovers what you’ve done?_

His winter rose; his future wife, perhaps (should circumstances fall differently); his Lyanna.

Suddenly victory didn’t taste so tempting anymore, and for half a heartbeat he deliberated switching Arryn’s drink for one not laced with poison; but then, out of the corner of his eye he saw the old man lift the glass to his lips and the deed was done. _It was so easy._

They’d always been subtle; the quiet power-players who sat by while the others tore at each other’s throats, all the while vying for a seat at the very top. They’d always been subtle; but they’d never lacked for cruelty.

Jon Arryn sat content for a moment, smiling out at his dinner guests who quietly discussed current affairs over half-empty glasses of wine. Rhaegar glanced to his right and was glad to find Rhaenys distracting Aegon with talk of trivial gossip, but he could still see the way his son’s shoulders hunched up, not quite relaxed enough to pass as indifferent.

Elia was at home, taken to bed by the fever that had befallen her. She was growing frailer every day and Rhaegar was unsure how much longer she’d last. He felt Oberyn Martell’s eyes graze over him then, as if the Red Viper could hear his thoughts deviate towards his beloved sister. _If she dies, the Martells will never forgive you,_ his own sister Dany’s voice resounded in his mind. Rhaegar knew she was right, which was exactly why he couldn’t let his wife die.

A cough from the end of the table broke his reverie and at once it was time to leave. The poison worked slowly, forcing its way into the pit of its victim’s stomach first, before releasing the venomous flames that would ultimately consume them. Arryn’s wife would likely find him dead in the morning with no trace of the cause, and the dragon’s would already have made their next moves before anyone thought twice about it. _Easy._

The other houses would surely revolt should they discover what truly happened that night. The Starks with their honour and no tolerance for deceit, the Lannisters with a hunger for power that could rival their own, even the illusory Tyrells, who dealt in their own fair share of dishonesty and scheming would never stand by and let this scandal go unnoticed (although the Tyrells always did seem to grow tallest amidst chaos).

They say that when a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin; _madness or greatness._ His father was mad no doubt; his insanity had driven his own wife to kill herself after all. Yet Rhaegar was still playing the good son and following his father’s orders—so what did that make him?

 

As the dragons’ descended the steps to the Eyrie Estate that night, and once more slipped quietly into the shadows, he only hoped that his coin had landed on the right side.


	2. Prelude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, it didn't really turn out the way I'd hoped. Idk, I might edit it at a later date.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy:)

**Prelude I – the ones who lit the flame**

 

The city centre was unusually crowded that morning. A throng of people encircled the newspaper stands, and a shockwave of protests resounded as their eyes’ read the headline. But there was no need for Catelyn to glance down at any of the numerous discarded papers to see for herself; she already knew what it would say.

She kept her head down as she weaved through the objectionable mob, tugging on the edge of her silk scarf a little more to obscure her face—the last thing she needed right now was to get asked for her comment on the unexpected scandal of that morning.

She clutched the letter a little tighter in her shaking hands, and sped up slightly, her every breath matching the tap of her boots against the stone-cobbled streets.

Her sister had been the one to wake her that morning with an urgent call begging her to go and meet her at once. She hadn’t said why, but she hadn’t needed to; Catelyn knew by the tone in her younger sister’s voice, that questions would have to wait.

It wasn’t her sister she found at the port though.

The spider had his webs spun in almost every major family in Westeros (as well as in a fair share of their scandals); there wasn’t a secret he didn’t know, or a lie he hadn’t told. It was risky crossing paths with the man to begin with, and Catelyn knew that Lysa would never usually trust him to relay information of any sort—let alone something that could find the meagre trust, delicately shaped and upheld between the major families, come crumbling down around them in a matter of minutes.

Catelyn was relieved when she finally reached the doors of Winterfell Manor, and even more so when she burst through them to find Ned there waiting for her. Her husband ceased his pacing and turned to look at her as the door slammed shut, anticipation lining his features.

Without hesitation he strode over to her and gripped her in a tight embrace. Catelyn blinked back tears as she buried her face in the crook of her husband’s shoulder. “Where are the children?” she asked him.

“They’re upstairs,” Ned responded quietly. “It’s fine, they don’t know yet. But we’ll have to tell them eventually.”

Catelyn nodded. She understood that well enough, but there was a difference between telling them that the leader of their city was dead, and another to admit that he’d quite probably been murdered.

“It’s not as simple as that,” she said, her eyes roving to the now thoroughly crumpled letter in her hand. Ned followed her gaze, his expression betraying nothing despite the somewhat reluctant understanding in his eyes.

“And Brandon and Lyanna? Where are they?”

Her question was answered by the sound of raised voices coming from the next room, and at once their moment of solace was broken. Catelyn looked up at Ned, who grimaced. “You’d better come inside,” he muttered, nudging the top of her head gently with his nose.

As they entered the drawing room, they were immediately met with the sight of Ned’s brother and sister, both unyielding in the face of the other’s pure white rage, as they threw confrontational words (and objects) across the room.

The pair ceased their yelling as the two walked in, identical expectance written on their faces. “Perhaps you’d better sit down…” Catelyn began. She’d said it more to her sister-in-law, whose eyes carried unbridled weariness, but it was Brandon who replied.

“He was murdered, wasn’t he,” the eldest Stark bellowed, an almost sadistic grin creeping onto his face as he glanced at his younger sister. She in turn held her head high in indignation, all the while careful not to meet the accusing eyes of those in the room. “Old-man Arryn was murdered by those damned Targaryens, _wasn’t he?_ ”

Catelyn said nothing.

“Well, sweet sister, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Lyanna’s eyes turned to ice and she looked ready to strike her brother, until Eddard spoke up. “We can’t be sure of anything yet; Jon was old, it’s quite possible—“

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Brandon barked, positively fuming as he ran a hand across his face and through his dishevelled dark hair. “This is _your_ fault,” he thundered at his sister, who in turn snatched the letter from his grip. “I warned you about those fucking dragons, Lya, I _fucking_ warned you. If they should somehow turn their eyes on us—”

“They will _not,_ ” Lyanna said firmly, her dark eyes bearing steel against her eldest brother. “I know Rhaegar; he _would not_ do this.” Brandon looked ready to protest, but thought better of it. His sister was a force to be reckoned with and he should’ve known by now not to push her too far.

The four of them were silent for a while, as Lyanna strode over to the large wooden table and poured herself a glass of wine. Her motions were precise and careful, and for a moment she was able to concentrate on only that one simple action, able to savour the way the red liquid burned slightly as it slid down her throat. “Could I look at that, please?” she inquired of Catelyn, extending a delicate hand for the letter.

Her expression had turned to disbelief by the time she was done, her eyes almost pleading as she surveyed the content. “Perhaps your sister truly believes this, but you _must_ see, Cat, she is clearly blinded by grief and not thinking straight or—“

“My sister risked her _life_ to give me this letter,” Catelyn contended, her usually soft voice laced with steel. _Blinded by grief—_ her sister bore little love for Arryn. She was not like to risk the life of her beloved son without just cause. _It is you, Lyanna who is blinded by love._ “If what she says is true then you have put us all in danger—“

“ _Cat.”_ Ned laid a cautionary hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook him off.

“She’s right, brother,” Brandon said, fixating his glare on his younger sister. “We may be strong, but we are only wolves, we cannot fight against dragons; and now we shall all burn for your mistakes.”

For a moment, Catelyn caught a flicker of the Brandon she once knew. He’d always been a man of few words, always brooding and solemn—just like Ned, were it not for his earth-shattering temper.

Once upon a time it had been him she sought to marry, not his younger brother. Brandon was the eldest and as such, the one who inherited the Stark fortune; it was supposed to be the perfect way to unite the houses Tully and Stark.

But then their father—Rickard—had died and Brandon had found his comfort in alcohol instead of the solace of her arms.

He’d let himself go since then no doubt, his beard and hair were constantly unkempt and he rarely looked anything short of dishevelled. Only his eyes retained hints of the allure he’d once held in his youth.

It may have been Brandon who held the titles and the seat on the city council, Catelyn thought, but it was Ned who truly held the strings of this family together. Without him, they’d be nothing by now.

In a city that was as corrupt as the people running it, rumours were poison, but the truth was even worse.

“ _My_ mistakes?” A slightly manic laugh escaped the she-wolf’s lips. “I fell in love, Brandon. I’d say that’s pretty innocent compared to the shame you’ve brought down on this family.”

“Oh, you fell in love? How touching, I didn’t realise you could be so sentimental about cold-blooded _murderers_ ,” he shot back.

“ _Seven hells,_ we don’t know that—what happened to innocent until proven guilty? And besides, as I recall, _you_ were at that damned dinner last night, were you not? Surely you’d have noticed if anyone slipped something in Arryn’s drink—oh, that’s right,” Lyanna smiled and Ned knew at once where she was going with this. “You were _drunk_ , as usual.”

“Lyanna, don’t.” Ned warned his younger sister as he noticed Brandon’s fists clenching.

“What? It’s true. You drink your way through your problems just as you drink your way through life. It will be your own stupidity that sends you to your grave, dear brother, _not_ the Targaryens.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Eddard bellowed, at once silencing his feuding siblings. “If Jon Arryn really died unlawfully then there is no use in fighting like children amongst ourselves. Whatever happens, we are not in this alone. The other families will _never_  let murder go unpunished.”

“Let us hope you're right,” Catelyn murmured.

;;

Jon Arryn was dead, the game was changing, and Westeros was about to burn in the fiery wrath of dragons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for feuding Starks! I promise they won't always be that angsty, or at least I hope.
> 
> I'm hoping to update quickly but that all depends on when my brain and schedule allow me:)


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